Near him, close to the window opening on the yard, two great devils of non-commissioned officers were jabbering in guttural French, mixed with Teutonic phrases.
The door opened. Some one entered. It was a slightly-built man, of medium height, smartly-dressed.
The adjutant rose, glared angrily at the intruder and growled:
"I say, what on earth is the orderly up to? . . . And you, sir, what do you want?"
"Service."
This was said frankly, imperiously.
The two non-coms burst into a silly laugh. The man looked at them askance.
"In other words, you wish to enlist in the Legion?" asked the adjutant.
"Yes, but on one condition."
"Conditions, by Jove! What conditions?"